


Don't take my sunshine away.

by EbonyMortisRose



Series: The story of Dylan Jackal & Mr Hyde [6]
Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Fate of Mary discovered, Heavy Angst, Mary sees Dylan, Soooo much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:08:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27178352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EbonyMortisRose/pseuds/EbonyMortisRose
Summary: Dylan finally returns to London, but he can not face Mary now that he is a monster. But he's come so far, gone through so much, the least he can do is try to get a glimpse of her face at their old home.
Series: The story of Dylan Jackal & Mr Hyde [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1821553
Kudos: 3





	Don't take my sunshine away.

**Author's Note:**

> You Are My Sunshine.
> 
> The other night dear, as I lay sleeping  
> I dreamed I held you in my arms  
> But when I awoke, dear, I was mistaken  
> So I hung my head and I cried.  
> You are my sunshine, my only sunshine  
> You make me happy when skies are grey  
> You'll never know dear, how much I love you  
> Please don't take my sunshine away.

When he was on the frontlines in Ypres, surrounded by bullets and bombs. The only thing that got him through one more hour, was the thought of getting home to Mary.  
When he was badly burned in a mustard gas attack and was laying in the recovery depot, barely able to breathe. The morphine, blurring the lines between reality and dream, fusing the pitiful moans and whimpers around him in the beds, with the wretched cries of those left broken and dying in the trenches, begging for deaths mercy; h e still pictured his wife's beautiful kind face and clung to the memory of their last kiss.

When Henry, a fellow soldier and a vampire, tried to turn him to get him through the war so that he could get back to his wife. But instead, it led to a year of his mind slowly rotting, giving in to the beast and finally becoming a Skal. His last sane thoughts were of her.  And when he finally did claw himself out of that stinking hellhole and regained his humanity, through killing and draining an ekon. All he thought about, just like in the trenches, what got him through every agonising hour, that eventually made up days, was getting home to her.

And now here he was, back in London. He had been through so much. Fought tooth and nail to get here and now the very thought of seeing her filled him with dread.  
In his daydreams he had imagined returning to her a man, maybe a little broken, a little scarred inside and out. But not what he was now, a monster, a dead man walking, an _abomination!_   
  
She thought he was dead, lost in the war. And he tried to comfort himself by thinking she probably found some solace in her grief, that their baby boy was no longer alone on the other side. And s o he had decided to act like the ghost he was, and visit their old home, taking with him a bouquet of red roses, her favourite and place them on her doorstep.   
He tried to make himself promise, as he walked down Temple Garden street, towards the Church there. That he would not try to glimpse her through a window. But just one fleeting glance wouldn't hurt, would it? just to see her one last time?

He was then shaken from his pondering by the sight of a familiar face. He had to do a double-take as it was the middle of the night and in the east end of London. But yes, it was Emeyline Ried, Mary's mother.  
He noted as she timidly walked towards him, that she was alone and without a coat.  Dylan no longer felt the cold, but he could tell there was a chill in the air. Because those living he had encountered had chuffed on by like little steam trains. Their hot breath turning into trails of mist in their wake.   
He also noted that she was currently in deep conversation with fresh air, nodding along to nonexistent commentary  and adding polite, quivering questions of her own.   
It saddened him to see her in this state and wondered what had happened in his time away, to cause such a once proud and caring woman to retreat into the realm of fantasy.  


As she drew nearer, he began nervously adjusting the straps on his gas mask and pulled up his big hood that covered his bald and scarred head.   
He couldn't leave her wandering like this, and hopefully, in her delirious state, she wouldn't recognise him he hoped.

With growing apprehension he walked towards her, making sure to stay in her line of sight. Until his six-foot frame was blocking her continued stroll towards, what looked like a church.  The graveyard of which would have probably been full of all sorts of night creatures, ready to make a meal of the little old lady, and was again thankful he had come across her first.  


She gives out a weak cry of alarm when she nearly collides into him. Only noticing him at the last minute, being so heavily invested in the conversation with her ghostly companion.  
Q uickly Dylan held out his gloved hands in mock surprise and tried to say in a soothing tone, through his haggard vocal cords.

“Forgive me, Madame, I did not see you there. Are you alright?”

She looks around flustered as if suddenly waking from a sleepwalk, then up at him.  The rhythm of her frantic beating heart almost drowns out her frail and frightened reply.   
  
“Who are you? Where am I? Where is Avery?”

Avery, he did not recognise that name and he just assumed she was asking after her now-departed spiritual companion.   
  
“I am here to escort you home, Madame Reid. Would you take my arm?”

Slowly not to alarm her further, he gently guided one of her stick-thin arms to link with his own. And once her little black laced gloved hands had gripped his forearm. He began a slow and steady pace back towards the West End.  
He kept glancing down at her as they walked, and watched as her wizened face wrinkled deep in thought. He could see her trying to make sense of the predicament she found herself in. Then as if someone had thrown a switch inside her mind, her features suddenly unwound and a dazed smile crossed her face.   
  
“You’re a Frenchman. My son-in-law is a Frenchman.” \- she croaked out.  
  
His step faltered for a moment then, thinking that somehow she had seen through his disguise.  It had been so long since he had spoken with another human being, that he didn't even realise that his accent was still apparent.   
Not only was his vocal cords damaged due to the gas attack, turning his once soft cadence into a gravelly deep baritone. But that lost year, howling in the dark, as a mindless beast hadn’t helped their recovery.   
  
There was nothing for it but to press on he thought. “Yes, I am madame. May I ask what were you doing out here alone?’’

He watches her face wrinkle up again, this time with a look of puzzlement before replying.  “But I am not alone young man. My husband and I were visiting my daughter and her darling son. He has his father's eyes, such a well behaved little boy.”

That does make him stop and actually look around the dingy gas lamp-lit street.   
  
“Mary? Mary is here?”

She picks up on his sudden agitated state and lets go of his forearm and started to wring her hands; then whimpers out. - “Aubrey, take me home.’’

He ignores her trembling plea, frantically scanning every shadow for his Mary. Until the rest of what she said settled in his mind. ‘ _ We were visiting my daughter and her darling son.’ -  _ Luc? His baby is dead.   
He then suddenly felt sick to his stomach and he knew that if he were human, his heart would be racing, fit to burst out of his chest with growing panic and dread.  
  
All pretence of being a stranger to this woman was now thrown aside because he needed to know what she meant by that comment.  There was nothing around here. No public houses, no residences that were occupied.   
Nearly all were ramshackled, boarded up and had white crosses painted on their fronts. Warning that the previous owners had died from the Spanish flu that was rife in the city at the moment.   
The only other place was the church and the...Oh god no! Please be wrong! Please god!

“Madame, where were you visiting your daughter, exactly? I must know!”   
  
He practially barked the question at her, and in response, she  physically cringed. Then, just pointed one trembling hand back towards the church.  “We had to leave her in that awful place. A mother should be with her son.”   
  
He followed her shaking hand and shook his head in frustration. “She's inside the church? She's praying?”   
He was pleading now. He wanted that to be the answer. He didn’t know what he would do if he actually heard the words he dreaded, leaving those frail trembling lips.

Her faded blue eyes began to pool with tears, making them glisten in the lamplight and s he started to become more flustered looking around at her surroundings, and in a cracked plea of her own said, “Aubrey, fetch the carriage. I’m not feeling well.”   
  
He looked frantically from her to the church down the street, then back to her.  He couldn't leave her here. cold and alone, but he had to know. “Merde!” he snapped out.   
Then, before she could protest. He picked up the fragile woman in his arms like a baby and then shadow-stepped.   
  
He had never jumped with someone before and hoped that the frail woman's heart did not give out on reaching their destination.   
The last time he had been to the Reid residence, was to ask Mister Reid for his daughter's hand in marriage. That act seemed so long ago, that it felt like it happened to someone else.   
When he finally landed on their doorstep, he quickly looked at Mrs Reid with his supernatural senses. She was unmoving in his arms, but thankfully still breathing and her heartbeat out a slow steady rhythm.    
With hands full, he opted to kick the bottom of the door with his boot and hoped someone was home.   
His pounding reverberated around the quiet residential neighbourhood, and out of the corners of his eye, he was sure he saw nearby curtains twitch.  
Then after what felt like an hour, his vampiric sight finally spotted  the pulsing silhouette of a man agonizingly slowly approaching the door.   
More minutes seemed to drag by as a bolt was then drawn and a key turned in the lock. when the door was finally opened, he was greeted by an old man in a butler's uniform.   
On seeing him, and the bundle he held in his arms, his white eyebrows nearly shot up over his wrinkled forehead.   
  
“Milady! Oh, I had just dozed off! Is she alright? Should I call a doctor? Master Reid might be in his rooms.” \- his frail voice trembled out.  


Dylan rolled his eyes behind his mask, now fed up with having to deal with ghosts.  He knew Mr Ried had just up and left one night. Shortly after Mary and he were married.  No explanation was ever given, and he was sure that incident was the start of Emylines decline.   
So, getting exasperated at this needless delay. He just shoved the old lady into the butler's arms, who took her slight frame with some difficulty and staggered back with her to a nearby chaise longue.  


He then barked out “She is fine monsieur, merely fainted. I found her just down the street. Adieu!”    
  
The butler yelled something after him, but his words were a blur, as he part ran, then leapt into a shadow jump, back in the direction of the church.   
When he landed at the giant oak doors of the church. The beast inside was grumbling its need for fuel, to replenish his dwindling resources.   
He had to admit that he was thirsty after such a frantic use of his supernatural abilities. But all thought of hunting was drowned out by the urgent task at hand.  
  
He didn’t know if the myths were true, that the undead could not enter a church. But he sure as hell was going to try. Even if his last act on this earth before holy fire consumed his eyes, was to see his wife knelt in prayer and know she was alive, would be worth the agony.  
But the door, when he tried to push it open was shut tight and locked. He tried lifting the large cast-iron knocker and repeatedly brought it down over and over. Looking to any passersby, like a desperate man seeking sanctuary from the evils of the world outside.  The desperate, repetitive hammering of the metal knocker against the wood sent a resonating boom out into the night and probably sounded like someone was laying siege to the church.  
  
He doesn't know when he started crying out, but during one echoing interval, he heard himself plea pitifully. “Please god. Please!’’  
  
When he did not receive an answer from the almighty, or from any clergy within. He simply rested his forehead against the wooden door and screwed his eyes tightly shut. Trying so hard to stop the flood of tears that threatened to pour free.  
 _" S'il te plait seigneur n'emporte pas mon rayon de soleil"_ he whispered. Balling his hands into fists either side of his head on the door.   
  
Then, gathering his resolve he  turned his head slowly to look at the entrance to Stonebridge cemetery and thought It might as well have been the entrance to Hades for all the pain it promised to reveal within its walls.  
But he had to know, and so like a man being sent over the top into no-man's land. He steeled his thoughts and began to  walk in a type of daze towards the entrance. Not wanting to process his next actions through rational thought. Just placing one foot infront of the other.  This is what serving in the war had taught him. To become numb, to wall off non-essential emotions. To not focus on the horrific trauma that was going on around him and just deal with the task at hand. Act. Think later.

As Dylan looked passed the rusted iron gate to the cemetery, that was wedged open and held in that position by years of overgrown ivy. He had to agree with Mrs Reid, it was a god awful place.   
It was built on a slight incline, with small weather-worn headstones clustered around the lower level.  Most were nearly covered by moss and ivy. But their poor condition actually aided in his search, as they had been left unloved for some time, so we're clearly not new additions.   
As he slowly followed an overgrown gravel path, that twisted it's way up to the wealthier tombs, made of stone and marble. H is hunger would make his sight slip into that red spectrum, catching the scrambling little forms of nocturnal creatures, urging him to hunt. But he would not be distracted from his task, and with a snarl reigned Hyde in.  
  
When he reached the  upper level, he noted the graves here were more well kept, showing signs of mourning visitors; a wilting bouquet here, a melted candle in a sconce there.   
He was also able to easily read the ‘occupants’ too. And with each name, not being the one he didn't want to find, his anxiety lessened.  
When he finally reached the top of the hill, marked by a large stone cross monument.  He was so relieved, he gave out a chuffed laugh.   
He had got himself worked up over nothing, he realised. Clearly Mrs Reid was more delirious than he first thought. His  Mary wasn’t here! She was probably at their old home asleep, safe in her bed, she…

It was then he noticed a single grave at the foot of the monument. Its marker, only a simple wooden cross, made it stand out against the grand polished marble crypts that surrounded it.  
In the moonlight, he could see its soil had been recently turned over and there, at the foot of the cross he could see someone had left a fresh bouquet of lilies and a single red rose. 

The sight of those innocuous items was like a physical blow to his insides. And if he had breath in his lungs, he was sure he would have taken in a winded sharp intake of breath. Instead, on legs that were suddenly losing the ability to keep him upright, he staggered forward, finally falling to his knees upon the soft earth at the foot of the grave.   
Frantic, he tore off his mask, throwing it to one side and w ith a trembling hand picked up a card that was attached to the rose and read. - ‘To my beloved Mary…’   
  
Bloody tears instantly clouded his vision, making him unable to read on. So he crushed the offending note in his hand and threw back his head and gave out a gut-wrenching cry.  
Far off in the distance, his monstrous kin took up the call. The only things in this rotting city that understood his pain. They knew, through his screeches and howls, that there was a man, who had just lost his reason for living and they cried with him.  
  
  
Far above, delicate pale hands encrusted with dirt and dried blood, gripped the stone balustrade with such force, it caused the masonry to crack.  
Her beloved, another victim of our poisonous kiss she thought. Was Jonathan responsible for his suffering too? It didn't matter, she now had a focus, a goal. To make her dear brother pay for their suffering, and In a wisp of shadow, she was gone.   
An avenging angel, flitting amongst this city of the damned, that was all nightmare, no dream.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> "S'il te plait seigneur n'emporte pas mon rayon de soleil" - 'Please Lord, don't take my sunshine away.'


End file.
